


(More Than) Okay

by Ren



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bathroom Sex, First Time, Hair-pulling, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-14 11:53:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/836585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ren/pseuds/Ren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the kink meme prompt: "High school AU where Grantaire sits behind Enjolras and tugs at his curls during class. One day Grantaire tugs too hard and Enjolras gets turned on."</p>
            </blockquote>





	(More Than) Okay

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah so I wasn't even planning to post this here, but then I accidentally de-anoned so whatever.

The first tug is soft, almost imperceptible. Enjolras blinks and keeps staring ahead at the teacher, even though he was thinking about his article for the school paper and he hasn't been paying much attention to the lesson for the past several minutes. Who cares about Leibniz, anyway? If this was the best of all possible worlds, then Enjolras wouldn't be sitting in front of Grantaire.

As if on cue Enjolras feels another tug, this time sharper. Taking advantage while the teacher has his head bent on the textbook, Enjolras turns around and glares. Grantaire gives Enjolras an innocent smile and props his chin over one hand, waving to him with the other.

"Stop it," Enjolras hisses. A few heads turn their way, but not many. It's been going on all year, ever since Grantaire got the desk behind Enjolras on the first day of school, and their classmates are used to their squabbles by now. Combeferre, on Enjolras's right, gives him a sympathetic smile and a shrug.

As soon as Enjolras goes back to looking at the teacher, Grantaire pulls his hair again. Enjolras purses his lips, takes a deep breath, and resolutely does not turn around. Instead he grabs a pen and starts scribbling something in his notebook, pretending like he's taking notes even though the teacher isn't saying anything that isn't in the book already.

He should have been doing this from the start, really, ignoring Grantaire is the only way to make him go away, but Enjolras finds it hard to ignore the other boy. Grantaire has a way of getting under his skin. Enjolras feels Grantaire's fingers brushing the back of his hair, as if Grantaire knows exactly what Enjolras is thinking and wants him to know that he's very much not bored with his childish games yet.

Grantaire tugs at a blonde strand above Enjolras's left ear this time, and Enjolras's head snaps backwards, involuntarily following the movement. Enjolras blushes, hoping nobody heard him gasp, then pulls his chair as far forward as he can and bends his head over the desk, away from Grantaire's reach.

"Don't mind him," Combeferre mouths, leaning over, but Enjolras just shakes his head imperceptibly, blonde curls dancing at the edge of his vision. Combeferre has short hair, he doesn't know how it feels, that bothersome little jolt of pain in his scalp.

Enjolras wills his mind to ignore the distraction sitting behind him and writes a couple of lines about Leibniz's inane thoughts. Then, suddenly, Grantaire's fingers are in his hair again. Even without turning around Enjolras knows that Grantaire has to be half sprawled on his desk to reach him, and he's probably smirking, teasing him with the wait, knowing that Enjolras knows that he's teasing. Maybe he wants Enjolras to turn around and start arguing. Instead, Enjolras bites down on his lip and keeps writing.

Then Grantaire pulls on a lock of hair, hard, much harder than he had before, and Enjolras feels a wave of heat washing over him. Grantaire's fingers stay curled in his hair for a moment more, then they let go. Enjolras looks down at his notes. The last word he wrote is a messy unreadable scribble. He clenches the pen in his hand, and that's when he realizes.

He's hard. And while that's not uncommon for a boy of his age (there's a running pool on when Courfeyrac will have his next awkward boner) it's not something that happens often to Enjolras. As a matter of fact all of his friends figured out that Enjolras doesn't have much of a sex drive, and sometimes they tease him about it. And now here he is, with a raging hard-on in the middle of his philosophy class.

Enjolras doesn't want to know what Courf and the others would say if they knew. He grabs the sides of his desk, fingers clenching so much that his knuckles turn white, trying to hunch over. Maybe if he doesn't think about it it'll go away, Enjolras thinks, and that's when Grantaire pulls his hair again. Enjolras almost screams at the touch. It's like every nerve in his body has suddenly migrated into his hair, which is a scientific impossibility, but there's no other explanation for the way Grantaire's touch sends little sparks across his scalp and down his spine and straight to his groin.

Enjolras jumps to his feet, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair and holding it in front of himself awkwardly. Everyone looks up at the noise and the teacher shoots him a questioning look.

"I need to go to the bathroom," Enjolras says, in a choked voice that doesn't sound like his own. He doesn't wait for an answer, just stalks out of the classroom and into the corridor.

"Enjolras!" the teacher calls, and someone (maybe Joly) asks "Are you okay?" but Enjolras barely hears them over the sound of his own heartbeat. He feels like everyone who sees him will know the truth, that he's a freak who got a boner in class for no reason at all, but thankfully the corridors are deserted. He rushes into the closest bathroom, quickly checks that all the stalls are empty, and gets inside the stall that's farthest from the door.

Locking the door requires him an effort because his fingers refuse to cooperate, but he manages it. He tosses the jacket on the closed toilet seat and then leans with his back against the wall for a moment, breathing hard, his eyes shut.

Pressing the heel of his hand against the front of his pants doesn't help, it only makes Enjolras wish for more friction. He doesn't understand what's going on or why his body doesn't feel like his own any more, because he's never felt so horny, so suddenly, before. Not even that time when Bahorel's girlfriend got drunk and flashed everyone at a party, a memory that's still cherished by many of their friends. Granted, Enjolras already figured that he might be more attracted to boys, but even so it's not as if he can't control himself around other people. Courfeyrac and Jehan are two of the most tactile people Enjolras knows, always patting him on the arm or giving out random hugs, and _that_ never gave Enjolras an erection before.

Unbidden, Enjolras's thoughts go back to Grantaire. It's stupid, he thinks, it's not as if he's attracted to Grantaire, but at the same time he cups his dick through the fabric of his jeans. His hips buckle into the touch, a little involuntary spasm, and Enjolras can't hold back a moan of pleasure at the contact.

Enjolras's left hand goes to his head, to the strand of hair Grantaire had been tugging at. He plays with it and tries to conjure back the memory of that feeling. It's not the same when it's his fingers and not Grantaire's, but it's close enough. With his free hand Enjolras unzips his jeans and pushes them a couple of inches down his hips together with his boxers.

He knows that this is a bad idea but he can't stop himself from wrapping his hand around his dick and stroking himself. He's so close already, he thinks, it'll take him no time at all to finish, he'll go back to his classroom and nobody will know. Enjolras twirls a lock of hair around his fingers and tugs a little, wondering what Grantaire would think if he knew. He jerks his hips forward into his fist, shoulders digging into the flimsy door behind him.

Just then he hears footsteps and the sound of a door opening and closing. "Enjolras," comes Grantaire's voice from outside the stall. "Are you in here?"

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Enjolras freezes and stares at the dirty wall in front of his eyes, praying Grantaire will leave if there's no answer, hoping against hope that he won't check under the stalls to see if any is occupied. Too late he realizes that he's breathing hard and clamps one hand over his mouth, but Grantaire's footsteps come closer and stop just outside his stall.

"Enjolras?" Grantaire says, tentatively. "Hey, are you okay?" A pause. "Come on, I know you're in there, I can see your red converse under the door."

Enjolras doesn't say anything, tries to stop himself even from breathing. His right hand is still around his erection, which doesn't seem to be going away, not even with Grantaire only a few feet away. If anything, knowing that Grantaire is there, that if it wasn't for the locked stall door he could reach out for Enjolras's hair and _pull_ , hard enough to make him cry out...

There's a choked sob that Enjolras can't quite stifle, followed by a moment of silence. "Are you crying?" Grantaire asks. His voice is soft. "Are you...? Fuck, Enjolras, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."

"I'm not crying," Enjolras says. He doesn't know why he doesn't go with the lie, it's simple and easy and much less shameful than the truth. But Enjolras can't lie, and it's not even because he despises lies, it's simply because right now his brain is completely incapable of thinking straight. He strokes himself once, pressing the palm of his other hand against his mouth, even though Grantaire is right there and there's no point in trying to be overly quiet. He just wishes that Grantaire would get the hint and leave already.

But Grantaire doesn't leave. "I'm sorry I was such an ass," he says, and he sounds sorry too, and that's not what Enjolras expected at all, but he can't think about it now. "Enjolras, I... Did I hurt you?"

Yes, Enjolras wants to scream, yes, it hurt, and it felt great. He can't, though. "No," he lies, almost pants, while his hand keeps moving on his dick. "Grantaire, just... Just go away..."

"You're not crying," Grantaire says, slowly, as realization dawns on him. By now Enjolras is too far gone to feel horrified by Grantaire's words. "Fuck, are you... Enjolras, are you jerking off in there? _Fuck_!"

Enjolras grits his teeth. "Stop. Saying. That. Word," he moans in between strokes. He doesn't bother to be quiet, the slide of skin on skin is already loud enough in the desert bathroom.

"Fuck," Grantaire says, quietly, because Grantaire has always been contrary. And then, "Can I come in?"

Enjolras's rhythm falters and he makes an incoherent noise, thinking maybe he misheard, maybe there's not enough blood for his brain to function properly.

"Only if you want me to," Grantaire hastens to add, in that quiet subdued tone that's so different from the way he talks in front of everyone else. "You probably don't want me in there, yeah, I get it. I'm sorry, I swear, it's just that you sit in front of me all the time and your hair is so soft and it's such a distraction, you have no idea..."

Enjolras doesn't know what happens. One moment he's jerking off slumped against the door, the next he's throwing the door open and grabbing the front of Grantaire's sweater to haul him inside the stall.

Grantaire goes willingly, pressing himself against Enjolras. "Holy shit," he says, in a slightly strangled voice. His eyes are very wide, like he can't believe what's happening, and Enjolras feels just the same. Enjolras doesn't want to think about how he must look, with his pants around his thighs and one hand on his dick.

So he kisses Grantaire instead. It's messy, all teeth, and Enjolras tastes blood from where earlier he bit his own lip hard enough to break the skin. Grantaire's hands are still at his sides, like he doesn't know if he's allowed to touch, but then Enjolras parts his lips and Grantaire licks into his mouth, and Enjolras makes a soft keening sound in the back of his throat.

This is much, much better than imaginary hands in his hair, but what would be even better is real hands in his hair. Enjolras doesn't know how to ask, so he takes Grantaire's hand in his own, still not breaking the kiss, and guides Grantaire's fingers towards his curls.

"Please," he says against Grantaire's lips. Grantaire doesn't say anything, just leans back a little to look at him and then tugs at the strand of hair. Enjolras shudders and bucks into his own hand, against Grantaire's leg, and feels tears welling at the corner of his eyes.

Grantaire's eyes are wide and he's staring at Enjolras's every movement. His lips, red and kiss-swollen, are parted. "Like this?" he says, breathless, and Enjolras can only nod. He doesn't know why, all he knows is that each touch brings him closer to his orgasm, and he doesn't want Grantaire ever to stop.

"Pull harder," he tells Grantaire in between moans that he's barely bothering to stifle any more. "It doesn't hurt," he says, meaning it doesn't hurt enough. He almost yells at Grantaire when the other boy lets go of him.

Grantaire presses a quick kiss to his mouth. "Turn around," he says, and his voice sounds wrecked too, so Enjolras does what he says, because he'd do anything to keep Grantaire touching him. Grantaire crowds him against the wall, bracketing Enjolras's legs with his own, then buries one hand in Enjolras's curls and pulls Enjolras's head back.

He presses a kiss to Enjolras's exposed collarbone and wraps the other hand around Enjolras's dick. His fingers are calloused and rougher than Enjolras's. Enjolras arches against him, feeling Grantaire's warm weight across is back. "Like this," he mumbles, not even knowing what he's saying. "God, Grantaire..."

Enjolras braces his arms against the wall, feeling Grantaire's fingers alternatively digging into his scalp and tugging at his hair. "Enjolras," he hears Grantaire moan against his neck, and turns his head so he can kiss him again, messy and uncoordinated, eyes half open and unfocused. "Enjolras," Grantaire says again, like a mantra, and then he pulls his curls again, hard enough that Enjolras sees stars, and then he's coming, painting the wall in front of him with long stripes of white.

Grantaire wraps one arm around Enjolras's shoulders and holds him while he milks his orgasm until the last drop. Enjolras collapses against him like a dead weight, feeling completely empty. He doesn't want to turn around, doesn't move at all while Grantaire cleans up the mess with a wad of toilet paper. He's still breathing hard and there are tears in his eyes. Enjolras wipes them away with the back of his hands.

"Are you okay?" Grantaire asks, and Enjolras nods shakily. He pulls up his jeans and finally turns around to face Grantaire.

"I'm okay," Enjolras says. "This was okay. Believe me, it was more than okay." _Okay_ feels pitifully inadequate to describe the best orgasm of his life, but Enjolras's usual eloquence has deserted him. Belatedly, he remembers himself and gestures towards Grantaire's jeans. "I'm sorry, I... You should..."

Before Enjolras can touch him, the other boy steps backwards, hitting his shoulders against the wall. "No need," he says hastily. Enjolras draws back and lets the hand drop to his side, not understanding and feeling inexplicably hurt. Grantaire blushes. "I kinda already came earlier," he says, not meeting Enjolras's eyes, and sure enough there's a darker stain on the front of Grantaire's dark trousers. "I know it's pitiful but you were wriggling against me and it felt so good, Enjolras, you have no idea how good it felt..."

Enjolras could point out that he's the one who got inexplicably turned on by Grantaire pulling his hair and so he has no right to judge, but there are better ways to make him shut up. Enjolras leans forward and kisses him silent, swallowing the rest of his ramble.

They step outside the stall one at a time, first Grantaire, and then Enjolras after he's checked that there's nobody around. Enjolras looks in the cracked mirror above the sink and surveys the damage. Grantaire looks like a mess but Enjolras himself is even worse, his hair is sweaty and messy and sticking out at odd angles.

They both jump when the bell rings. Enjolras had completely lost track of time. Grantaire grimaces, looking down at his ruined trousers, and Enjolras tosses him his jacket. "To cover the worst of it," he says, even though it's not nearly enough to hide how the two of them both look, they're going to get some weird looks from their friends and that's assuming the teachers don't notice.

Enjolras knows he should feel embarrassed, or awkward, and there's a hundred things he wants to tell Grantaire but doesn't know what to say. Then Grantaire raises one hand, and Enjolras holds his breath, but the other boy just tucks one flyaway strand of hair behind Enjolras's ear. And, for now, it's more than okay.


End file.
